


The Visit

by Notatracer



Category: A Bit of Fry and Laurie RPF
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notatracer/pseuds/Notatracer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that Los Angeles is one of the loneliest places in the world. They also say that one's first year in LA is the hardest. Who they are, I couldn't begin to guess. Someone who seems to know a great deal in these matters, I would imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [academe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=academe).



Lips smacking together while two lovers embrace. That's a lovely image, isn't it? I think that's how I should like to begin this story. The bed creaking as he leans over me. My fingers grasping at warm skin. I gasp as he touches me just there. Ah, but perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. In fact, I know I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's back this story up lest you get the naughty bits without context.

They say that Los Angeles is one of the loneliest places in the world. They also say that one's first year in LA is the hardest. Who they are, I couldn't begin to guess. Someone who seems to know a great deal in these matters, I would imagine.

After somewhat more than a year, I'd finally moved into a flat of my own, or I should get used to saying 'apartment', in West Hollywood. I was leaving behind my carefree days of coffee being passed off as a continental breakfast, scratchy towels, and tiny soaps. Instead, I was venturing forth into the world of tidying up after myself and having to sign a paper saying that I wouldn't drape wet towels in view of the neighbours. This was a step in the right direction. Wasn't it?

I would sit on the couch and stare at the television mounted to the wall. I'd inspect the insides of the nearly empty fridge. I could go buy anything that I felt like, but I just didn't have the motivation to walk outside the door. Leaving the apartment was gradually becoming less and less appealing. I wondered how long before I blacked out all the windows and began wearing tissue boxes on my feet.

It was the same day over and over again. I felt like I was in that film, you know the one ... the one Stephen adores. Blasted name escapes me. Some days, at the studio, I would think that if I had to see that bloody Julie Andrews mural one more time ... well, let's just say that I couldn't be held responsible for my actions. On the weekends, to break the monotony, I'd occasionally walk to the Blockbuster or glance in the windows of the shops on Santa Monica. But, more often than not, I didn't leave the apartment for more than a microwavable pasta bowl.

I ended up stretched out on the floor of the bedroom. The firmness helped to relieve the aching in my shoulder. I blinked as my eyes watered from the thin layer of smog that managed to creep in, or so I told myself because the alternative was too pathetic to contemplate.

The phone rang. Again.

I fumbled in the dark for my mobile. I coughed the moment I pressed the green button.

'Lo?'

'You sound awful.'

Emma. It would be Emma. She had been on the short list of people who hadn't phoned courtesy of Stephen's misplaced concern.

'Nice to hear your voice too.'

'Sorry. I was worried because Stephen -'

'You shouldn't worry about me. Especially not about this. It's all in his overactive imagination. I'm fine. Really.'

'You don't sound fine.'

'Don't worry. And, tell Stephen to stop reading gossip about me online. Or, more to the point, tell him to stop leading my friends and family to believe I've got the seppuku sword at the ready.'

I hope you don't mind that I interrupt the flow of dialogue for the briefest of moments. You see, Stephen had somehow or another got it into his head that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Actually, I know how he had got that idea - tabloids. Maybe I did, and do, have some of what the Americans would term "issues." Perhaps I did come with a warning to new directors. And, I might've spent more than my fair share of time alone and rocking in plain view of others. Regardless, that was no reason to cause anyone alarm. It wasn't as if I was quite publicly drinking to excess and flashing my knickers, or lack thereof, to anyone who would have it. Come to think of it, I doubt anyone would have it. "Shut your legs, Hugh, darling. There's a good lad."

'You know he worries because he loves you. We all love you.'

'I know.'

'Have you heard from him today? I left a couple of voice messages, but I haven't heard a peep.'

'Oh, you know Stephen, probably doing a billion and one things at the exact same time in multiple dimensions. He phoned while I was sleeping, but he didn't leave a message. I remember him saying something or other about a couple of important meetings concerning some documentary idea that he was kicking about.'

She hummed in agreement.

'Are you sure you're ok? I don't want hear you've flung yourself into the river.'

'I think the worst I could do with the LA River would be to break an arm. I told you, I'm fine ... couldn't be happier.'

'Now I know you're lying.'

'Emma, I'm doing well as can be expected. I'm bored, I'm lonely, I'm homesick, but I'm managing. If it gets as bad as everyone seems to think, I'll come home. But, it's not that bad. I promise. I've met some really nice people and the weather is beautiful. I think now that I'm out of the hotel, things will start to look up. Please don't worry.'

'Promise to phone if -'

I didn't hear the rest of her sentence because there was a knock at the door. I'll spare you the sappy talk that concluded the conversation.

As you may very well have guessed, I opened the door to find an obviously jet-lagged Stephen. Hanging off his shoulder was a rucksack bursting at the seams.

'Stephen? What -?'

'Hello. Do you mind if I ...'

'Oh! No, no, come in. Come in.'

Once he'd been ushered inside, his bag deposited on the rug and ourselves deposited onto the sofa, he reached into his discarded jacket and pulled out a small, chocolate rose.

'I wanted to get you something, but the only shop I saw open at this hour was the CVS. This was all they had in the way of gifts for one's severely depressed lover who's moved overseas.'

I could feel myself blushing as I took the rose. Stephen fidgeted with the buttons on his sleeve.

'Thank you. Not just for the chocolate, but for, you know .... You didn't have to drop everything to come here.'

'Of course I had to. I knew something was wrong.'

'You of all people should know that those articles are a bunch of arse.'

'Articles or no, I could hear it in your voice. Besides, your eyes are pink.'

'I may or may not be slightly stoned.'

'Darling boy, I've seen you in various states of intoxication and I've seen you upset. I think I can tell the difference. Your eyes are swollen and your face is red and blotchy. You've never been an attractive crier, dearest.'

As we sat in awkward silence, Stephen traced lazy circles on my knee. I don't suppose I need to tell you that his light touches were having an effect on the more or less uncooperative part of my anatomy. I found myself with a profound urge to flee.

'Are you thirsty? I'm thirsty. Tea? Beer? Water? I think there might be a Squirt in there someplace.'

'As enticing as something called Squirt sounds, I'll take whatever you're having.'

I somehow managed to make my way into the kitchen. It doesn't seem like a great feat considering it takes about all of two seconds to walk from one room to the next, but my heart was pounding so hard that I thought it was trying to burrow its way out. This made absolutely no sense. Yet, there I was with my sweaty palms firmly planted near the sink as I tried to keep my thoughts from blurring together. I wished I could figure out what I was feeling instead of having to consciously sort through emotions.

I must've let time slip away because the next thing I knew, Stephen was hugging me from behind. He kissed the back of my head, my ear, then my neck before letting his head rest on my shoulder.

'Do you remember that time, in your rooms at university, when I held you like this in front of the window?'

'I remember that neither of us were wearing a stitch. I thought we were going to give old Blomfield a fright when he looked up and saw us, but he just shrugged and kept walking.'

'I'm sure he'd seen more than his fair share of naked boys in his day.'

His breath tickled along my neck as his hand came to rest flat against my stomach. I swallowed. Hard. With only a moment's hesitation, I turned in his arms. His hand, now on my lower back, pressed me close. I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled him down into a kiss. It had been far too long since the last time I'd tasted him. It was intoxicating. I felt light-headed. I felt ...

I pulled away from his mouth and buried my face in the crook of his neck. He stroked my back as he made shushing noises. I don't know why - I wasn't making a sound. For some inexplicable reason, I seemed to be shaking all over, and Stephen's arms tightening around me were the only things anchoring me to a reality I wasn't sure I was a part of any longer. Stephen continued to murmur nonsense into my ear - well, I'm sure it wasn't nonsense; the man is never at a loss for words, but at that moment I was in no condition to process whatever he was saying. We stood like that for some indefinable length of time, Stephen's embrace and words cocooning me in warmth and comfort. Almost against my will, I felt a sense of relief, almost of peace, stealing over me. Damn the man for always knowing what I need. Finally, I was able to relax and enjoy the closeness that I'd longed for on so many lonely nights.

Feeling a bit silly, I sighed against his damp shirt. 

'I made a huge mistake.'

'Which mistake was that, petal?'

'All of them. For one, hurting you.'

'That was a long time ago.'

I saw the familiar flash of pain and accusation in his eyes, quickly hidden.

'Not long enough. I feel as if my life is a series of bad decisions, you know.'

'That's not true.'

His voice was patient but weary - this was a conversational path we'd trodden many times.

'Sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn't love you. At least, not this much.'

'It would be easier for you, but I couldn't bear it.'

I heaved a slightly wavering sigh as I relaxed more deeply into his arms. There ensued more kissing and sweet talk that I don't care to repeat, but I will say that the words of endearment were quite overused by one of us, and incoherent snuffling quite overused by the other. After I endured the well-deserved scolding from Stephen on the subject of making him worry and being too self-reliant to admit I needed him, we charted the inevitable course for the bedroom.

After the traditional shucking of clothes, he lay beside me on the duvet. My eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the semi-dark of the room, so I could only just make out the smile on his face. Sorry to disappoint, but it wasn't a night of gross debauchery. Oh, no, that would be over the course of the next two days. On the night in question, we kissed, first slowly, softly, then with increasing heat and hunger as he slid his hand down my body. He mapped my body with his fingers, re-learning my contours as he devoured my mouth with lips, teeth and tongue, overwhelming all of my senses as he always does. Finally, after a nearly unbearable interval, he grasped me, and I arched involuntarily into his hand. Pulling his lips from mine, he gave me a look of lascivious smugness (only Stephen can pull off such an expression) which caused me, as always, to blush over an embarrassingly large surface of my body. I gasped as he slowly began to jerk me off. He began the stream of words that is a constant in our lovemaking - pouring out tender endearments, gentle witticisms, esoteric puns, and, for all I knew, dissertations on the subject of the poetry of WH Auden. I was in no state to appreciate the words, but as always the sound of his voice filtering through my lustful haze pushed me even higher. My fingers grasped at his arm, clinging desperately, before travelling to a more interesting destination. His tongue, accompanied by his hot breath, found its way into my ear. That alone could have been enough to do me in, but I managed to hang on, just barely. There's an unspoken challenge between us, every time, to see who can hold out the longest. I only just heard the word 'love' over our din, but who spoke it, I couldn't tell you.

It was all over in an embarrassingly short amount of time. I stretched, settling down more comfortably on the duvet. Stephen's fingers lingered in the wetness on my stomach. Even though it's an awful cliche, I desperately wanted a cigarette. But I didn't want to get up and I didn't want to light one up in bed knowing that Stephen was struggling to quit. Instead, I curled against him and began to drift off to sleep.

I won't lie and say that we lived happily ever after, or that all my problems were solved by one magical night of sex. But I will say that at least I felt capable of coping with another day. I suppose that's all I can ask for. And despite all the mistakes I've made in my life, real or imagined, my relationship with Stephen was never one of them. No matter where I go in this world, or what I do, I know that he loves me unconditionally. That's all that really matters in the end, isn't it? 

 


End file.
